


Warp and Weft

by ambyr



Category: Song of the Lioness - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 2, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 08:02:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10158188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambyr/pseuds/ambyr
Summary: Not all healing is of the body.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShadowEtienne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowEtienne/gifts).



Kourrem was in the temple purifying lamp oil when Farda found her. It was a tedious, exacting ritual, one she would gladly have set aside for any excuse, much less urgent summons from the midwife. One look at the Farda's anxious face had Kourrem putting down the flask.

"Is it a breech?" Kourrem asked, as she followed the older woman out of the tent. She had become adept at using knot magic to turn infants. The hank of thread she always carried bulged reassuringly in her pocket when she dropped a hand to check for it.

Farda shook her head, and Kourrem, not wanting to slow her further, asked no more questions. She matched Farda's rapid pace through the Bloody Hawk's encampment, pausing only when they stepped through a flap into the darkness of a tent.

The first moment of the pause was to let her eyes adjust from the blinding glare of the sun. The second moment was to process her startled recognition. The woman lying on the sleeping mat, grunting with the strain of labor, was her sister.

Kourrem had seen her sister many times since being banished from her family's tent. There were only twenty families in the Bloody Hawk. It was a rare day when Kourrem did _not_ see most of the tribe. They passed each other walking to and from the well, glimpsed each other across the fire. But they had not _spoken_ since the day Kourrem's parents had called her demon-touched and barred the family tent to her, while her sister crouched in their shadow, wide-eyed and silent.

"She's early," Farda said, a note of challenge in her voice. "She's early, and the babe is weak. Will you help?"

Kourrem shook herself and stepped closer, letting the tent flap fall shut behind her. She did not need thread for this, only the simple healing tricks of her youth. "Of course," she said, and reached inside herself for strength to lend.

* * *

Later, after Farda had cleaned away the blood and mucus, the two women rested on a rug outside the tent. From inside, they could hear sounds of delight as father met son. It was evening, now, and a cooling breeze made the tent walls ripple.

"You didn't need me here for this," Kourrem said, her fingers toying with her thread. "Her son was early, but not _that_ early. He would have lived."

"He would have," Mari Fahrar agreed, stepping out of the shadows of the twilight. "But not all healing is of the body, shaman."

"I know that," Kourrem said, stung by the rebuke in her tone.

Farda nodded, raising a hand in a calming gesture. "I know it must be hard for you. The Balance was not kind to you for many years."

"But you are shaman now," Mari said with less patience, "and you must be shaman of _all_ the tribe. Since you moved into the shaman's tent, your family has not set foot in the temple. People see this, and it makes them wonder about the strength of the tribe. Akhnan Ibn Nazzir divided us, weakened us. But he has been gone a year, and we must repair those threads." 

This was the frankest any member of the tribe had spoken of Kourrem's banishment since her appointment as shaman. Anger swelled in her, drawing her to her feet despite the lethargy left by healing. "Why must _I_ repair them? My family made their choice years ago, and they have kept making it. I do not bar them from the temple."

"Because you are shaman," Mari told her. "You are head shaman, not a child, and you have a duty to your tribe."

Kourrem hung her head. The child in her still wanted to cry out that it was not _her_ fault. The child in her _had_ cried, years ago, standing before that barred tent flap. It was hard to turn her back on that memory--but she knew Mari was right.

"I don't know where to start," she admitted.

"I know," Farda said gently. "That is why we have helped you tonight. You are not an exile any more, Kourrem. You have a duty to the tribe, yes, but the tribe also has a duty to you." She glanced at Mari. "You may be the shuttle that weaves this pattern, but we are the warp on which it grows." 

Mari nodded. "I have seen the wonders you can do with a piece of thread, shaman. But you cannot weave a rug with a single strand. It will fall apart."

Behind her, the tent flap opened, spilling lamp light into the desert. Kourrem's brother-in-law stood there, looking overwhelmed--like any new father might. He cleared his throat several times.

"Kourrem Hariq," he said. "My wife asks if you--." There was a small cry from inside the tent, and his gaze darted back inside, then refocused on her. "That is. Would you like to hold your nephew?"

Kourrem swallowed, glad her veil hid her face. "Yes," she said, and left Mari and Farda in the gathering dark to step inside.


End file.
